Small Miracles

by Olivia Atwater

The walls had a smattering of self-aggrandising diplomas and certifications, all framed in wood and glass.

Beatrix slumped even further in her chair. “Mum doesn’t listen to anyone,” she said. “She’s proud of being that way. She has all of these followers online, and she’s always telling them that the only way to be exceptional is to never accept no for an answer.” She paused and drew in a shaky breath, as though preparing herself to say something truly egregious. “She calls herself ‘An American Mama Bear In London’.”

8 Like most millennials, Gadriel finds the idea of actually talking to someone on the phone to be utterly repulsive. In Gadriel’s case, of course, ‘millennial’ refers to a different turn of a different millennium—but the point still stands.

Beatrix beamed broadly. “All I had to do was say the ‘f’ word!” Millie goggled at her. “You said the ‘f’ word to your mum?” she asked incredulously. Beatrix nodded emphatically. “I used the word freedom!” she specified. “What does this have to do with freedom?” Millie asked with a choked laugh. “I don’t know,” Beatrix admitted, “but it worked! Mum said it’s our god-given right as Americans to rebel against British institutions!” “Aren’t you half-American?” Millie asked, squinting at Beatrix.

“Someday, the whole world will end,” she told him. “On that day, you’ll streak across the sky like a comet, and everyone will look at you and despair.” She reached up to close her hand around Wormwood’s wrist, pulling his hand from her face. “But creation wasn’t made just to despair, Wormwood. There’s an awful lot that’s still going to happen between now and that last, dreadful moment. There are small lives being lived, and small triumphs being had, and small people enjoying their favourite red velvet cupcakes. And all of those small things still have meaning, even if they someday have to end.”